


When You Cry

by kantokraze



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Jack Zimmermann's Overdose, M/M, Soulmates, Violence, heed the tags, lots of crying thats like, the whole thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-01-02 20:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21167765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kantokraze/pseuds/kantokraze
Summary: Before he knew it, he had hot tears streaming down his face. Eric reaches up to brush them away, but they just keep falling. He knows his soulmate is sobbing. It pains him to know he can’t be there to help.In a world where when your soulmate cries, you cry as well. Jack and Eric seem to do a lot of crying.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It was gonna be a one-shot but I thought it might motivate me more to just throw this out there. So it'll be a two-parter that will HOPEFULLY update next week. Credits for the idea goes to this soulmate masterpost on Tumblr by user sixxon, which I saw and immediately wanted to write angst for them. But no worries. With hurt, there is always comfort.
> 
> Specific TWs as follows:  
-Bullying (Homophobia mention)  
-Drug abuse, overdose  
-Brief vomit mention

It happened first when Jack was 5, on a sunny day. It was May 5th, 1995. His mother had always decided to write things down as they happened, especially in the earlier stages of his life. It had been a quiet day at home, sitting out and enjoying the sun. The news had not yet been broken to him about the mysterious joys of simultaneous sobs that would happen as his soulmate cried. His mother held him close as sobs wracked his body, as he continued to cry empty tears that were not his own.

“Why is this happening?” He asked through hiccups and sharp breaths, continuously wiping his eyes. But the tears did not stop. And he had no say in when they would stop.

“I haven’t had the chance to tell you about your soulmate, have I?” She said with a smile, eyes slowly watering. His father looked up simultaneously and shook his head, as a shared tear fell from their eyes. 

[ Alicia. ] Bob Zimmerman says with a slight frown, wiping away a tear from his eye. [ There’s no need for tears on this occasion in particular.] He comments, turning back away from the pair with a slightly amused smile. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” She says in a bright tone, dabbing at her eyes. “I’m just so happy for you, Jack…” Alicia smiles, pulling the child into her lap as his crying slowly begins to quiet into soft whimpers. “Each and every person on this planet has a soulmate. Someone that they are bound to for life. This will be the person you spend your life with and will love until the end of time.”

Jack looks up at her with damp, baby blue eyes and wraps his fingers around hers. “How do you know?” He asks, squeezing the finger tightly.

“It’s been that way for a long, long time. And we know this because of a common trait.” She says, squeezing his little hand back. “When your soulmate cries, you are destined to cry as well. But it isn’t necessarily a bad thing, honey. Sometimes your soulmate will cry because of joy, as well. You get those little gifts as well. And one day…. you’ll be able to meet them. You’ll meet the person you're destined to live out the rest of your days with.”

“And how did you and Papa know?” He asked, eyes filled with curiosity.

“There are boards online to find soulmates, you know. It’s not as hard now as it was when we were growing up… now there are entire social media platforms dedicated to finding the person you’re destined to be with. For us... it was a little more difficult than that. Let’s just say there was much more than an entire ocean between us, but it could never have kept us apart for long. I promise you’ll find your soulmate in due time.”

“Really?”

“Really.” She leaned down and grazed his forehead with her lips, trailing small kisses to his nose. He giggled as a few final tears fell past his cheeks, but this time, he decided not to wipe them away.

He wondered if his soulmate was okay.

. . .

At more than a few points down the line, Jack had realized his soulmate had done more than enough crying for both of them. Perhaps he was much younger than Jack, or perhaps he was just a bit more emotional, but whatever the case, his soulmate seemed to cry an awful lot. 

He had gotten good at hiding it as often as he could, though. Burying his nose inside of his jumper, heading off to the bathroom as quickly as possible, or just pretending like nothing was happening as the tears streamed past his cheeks. He was destined to not let his soulmate stop him from doing well in his classes, nor stopping him from learning the tricks and trades of hockey from his dad.

[ Suck it up, Zimmerman. ] His dad would say, crossing his arms. [ Even when my soulmate was crying, I’ve had some of the best plays of my career. ] He would brag, although it was clear to Jack it was supposed to be an odd motivator to push through the tears. Jack could only hope his soulmate would stop crying during the most important parts of his life, but it wasn’t like he could control that, anyway.

He sighed as another tear fell from his eye. Jack gritted his teeth and fought through the hazy vision like a champ, skating towards his father at full speed. 

His soulmate wasn’t going to stop him from being the best hockey player the league had ever seen. 

. . . 

Eric Bittle was now twelve years old. And at this point, he wasn’t even sure if he had a soulmate. If he had one, they were certainly an emotional brick, because he swore he had never felt them cry. It always felt like most of the tears, if not all of them, were his own. At the drop of a hat, Eric could start crying, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. Perhaps it was because of how he was raised, or because of how he wasn’t raised, he should say. With a harsh father and a comforting mother, things tend to go one way or the other. And it seemed to him that he was one of the most emotional people he had ever met.

He sat at the bar in the kitchen, poking at the pecan pie with his fork. 

“Mama,” he began, sniffling slightly. “Do you really think I have a soulmate?” He asked, not glancing up from his slice, which was growing colder by the second. 

“Why, Dicky—“ She exclaimed, turning on her heel from the dishes, wiping her hands quickly and tossing the dishrag aside. “Of course you have a soulmate! Just because she isn’t… very emotional doesn’t mean that she isn’t there!” She reaches over the counter and gave his free hand a tight squeeze, eyes gentle, but with a hint of uncertainty. “Everyone has a soulmate. I’m sure yours is just very in tune with her emotions, okay? Now finish your pie before it turns to ice, dear.” She said comfortingly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. As quickly as she came, she returned to the dishes. And he listened to them clatter in the sink with a slight frown. His eyes watered as he thought of not having a soulmate. Or perhaps his eyes were watering for a different reason entirely.

He wasn’t quite sure.

. . .

It wasn’t too much longer in that year Bitty had experienced one of the most difficult nights of his life. And no matter how much he wanted to, the tears would not stop falling.

“Aww, what are you gonna do, Bittle? Cry?” They would shout, eyes narrowed and smile wide with amusement as he was backed into a wall, knees shaking like a newborn fawn. “Who’s gonna save you? Your soulmate?” They cackled, hands grabbing his shirt collar, throwing him to the ground.

Hands reaching to keep him down. 

Feet kicking his ribs, pummeling his groin. 

His eyes squeezed shut, tears threatening to spill over his cheeks. He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want to cry. His soulmate… if he had one, probably was annoyed with him already. After all, he cried nearly every day after school. Every day in the bathroom during lunch. Every day he could hear those names. He could hear their laughter. He could hear their endless taunts.

One of the boys picked him back up again, brown eyes widened with amusement at his twisted face.

“Aw, Bitty. Maybe if you weren’t so—. This wouldn’t be happening to you, huh?” He announced as a roar of laughter followed. His fist met Eric’s nose. Blood spilled past his lips and copper filled his mouth. He hit the ground. His wrist throbbed. 

Eric Bittle had no idea what he had said, and honestly, he didn’t even want to know. Despite still being a kid, he thought he had heard it all. So what was the point of hearing it again? 

Even as his ears rang and he hugged himself as tightly as possible, he only hoped this nightmarish stay-the-night would be over before it began. He shouldn’t have come.

He should never have come.

Eventually, they did get tired. They always did.  
But this time was different. He opened his eyes, vision foggy, but the room was still dark. He didn’t know where he was.

He stood up on shaky legs, clutching his wrist to his chest. His eyes blinked slowly, as he tried to feel around for anything. His fingers met what he could only assume could be a door. Eric tried to turn the handle. 

He pulled at it again.

And again.

And again.

And suddenly he was on the floor, sobs completely overtaking him. He curled up tightly, clutching his wrist and squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as he could. If only he could wake up… perhaps it was all a dream. All the pain, all the names, all the crying. All of it. 

And for some reason, he felt so bad. Eric felt guilty about ruining his soulmate’s Friday evening, that he had to deal with him crying for an entire night until someone had come to save him.

Was anyone ever coming to save him?

He choked out another sob, knees pulled into his chest. If only his soulmate knew where he was. 

If only.

If only.

. . .

Jack Zimmerman was now 17. And for some reason, he could not stop crying. At this point, it was getting a little embarrassing. After all, he could only apologize so many times to his coach as tears completely overtook his vision, and he was left utterly useless on the ice. 

“Go home, Zimmerman. I can’t work with you sobbing on the ice.” He said with an annoyed sigh. “Hopefully your soulmate will feel better before game day, alright?”

And that was all it took. Jack was annoyed, sure, and he did have to drive home through an absurd amount of tears. He didn’t even want to see Kent through all this, simply because it was such an annoyance to try and speak to someone when you’re a blubbering mess. Except, you’re not the one who’s the mess. It’s your soulmate, in God knows where crying their eyes out. 

As soon as he got home, he was feeling completely weak. His entire body was shaking as he barely managed to park his car and head up the front porch steps, nearly collapsing as he rang the doorbell.

Luckily, his mother opened the door quickly and hurried him over to the couch, as Jack was diminished into a sobbing, dehydrated heap. Beyond hockey practice, having done nearly three hours of crying was really beginning to take a toll on him. Jack clutched his head and leaned into his mother with another sob, reaching over to take her hand.

[ Oh, Jack.. ] she said softly, taking the hand and giving it a tight squeeze. [ I’m so sorry. I wonder what they’re going through right now… ] Alicia pondered, taking her damp cloth and wiping it across her son’s cheeks. Just through the tears and snot, Jack was completely and utterly annoyed at this entire thing.

[ But- it happens nearly- every day. ] He managed to hiss, eyes puffy and red just through his slightly drenched bangs. [ It’s.. becoming- very bothersome. ] Jack says through gritted teeth, pointing over towards the bathroom. [ M-meds. Please. ] He gasped, as another sob shook his entire core.

His mother scrambled from the couch and into the bathroom, pulling a bottle of pills from behind the mirror. She handed him one with concern glazing her face, before storming into the kitchen to whip up a glass of water.

Upon her return, he gave her a tired look, and she knew exactly what he wanted. 

[ Just one more, okay? That is all. Any more than two will not help you, Jack. ] She said with a slight scowl, handing him another small pill and a glass of water. His hands shook as he took the two tablets, almost instantly relieved as they passed down his throat.

He leaned back into the couch and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that it would somehow alleviate the tears. 

It took more than three hours before the crying finally quieted down. It was just beyond midnight when Jack and his mother finally breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Those felt… different than normal.” He said quietly, closing his eyes in an odd form of relief. 

“They did seem much more violent than normal,” Alicia notes, brushing back the boy’s bangs with the back of her hand. “I’m glad they are finally calmed down. Perhaps they finally fell asleep.” She said with a relieved smile, pulling her son into a hug.

He accepted the hug, holding her back just as tight.

“Yeah. I hope they stay asleep for a while.”

. . . 

It was well into the morning when the groundskeeper found Eric Bittle, laying in a small puddle of his blood and tears. The door opened quickly, and suddenly wonderful amounts of Saturday morning sunshine covered him. He finally felt warm. Eric could barely feel the groundskeeper’s panicky tone, shaking hands lifting his head and checking his skull for any type of trauma. His eyes felt very fuzzy as he looked up at the man.

Surely, he was saying something to him. His lips continued to move, to ask him questions, but Eric Bittle could not hear a sound. Over the pounding of his head and the ringing in his ears, it was very hard to hear anything. 

But he could hear the sirens, alright.

It was the first time this had ever happened to him. It was his very first ambulance ride. A truly momentous occasion. They tried to ask him questions too, but only choppy bits came through. They were probably asking him easy questions, too. Ones he could answer without a moment’s thought… but not now. He couldn’t think of anything concrete right now. 

The lights were bright and everything flooded together very quickly. They were cleaning his wounds. They were setting his nose. They were testing his joints and finally seeing that his wrist might have been fractured. Perhaps just sprained? But he wasn’t sure. He had been in pain for such a long time that he wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Did his arm really hurt? Was his nose actually broken? Maybe.

Maybe.

And that’s when he saw Mama. Out of all the things that flooded together, seeing Coach and Mama stuck out like a sore thumb. Or maybe a broken nose. She had been crying. She had those puffy, red eyes and her lashes were clumped together with tears. The coach had been angry. His cheeks were still a mighty crimson and he looked as if a blood vessel nearly popped right out of his head. 

Two sides of the same coin, he thought, but despite all this, there were no tears. 

“Dicky,” She cooed, brushing his hair from his forehead, shaking her head in disbelief. Mama was still in her PJs, hair looking just a bit unkempt. But he didn’t blame her. After all, he could only assume what that phone call had been like— or, maybe he didn’t want to know. 

“You did good, kid. You’ll be alright.” Said Coach, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. And it was clear to Bitty that… that was not the answer Mama was looking for. She gave him a motherly glare, eyes narrowed and lips pulled into a pout. He knew that look all too well.

We’ll talk about this later. 

But what was there to talk about, anyway? Eric had been beaten up by the football team. He was weak and he had known that. Despite the training with Katya, nothing had really prepared him for this. He frowned, closing his eyes again. What did this mean for him, anyway? Moving schools? Different friends. Different teams to get bullied by. 

He was sure it would be okay.

“Just rest, baby.” 

And so he did.

. . .

It had been a few days since the incident, and his soulmate had been completely quiet. Absolutely nothing. Not a single tear had fallen from Jack’s eyes in the last three days, and he could only wonder what that meant for his soulmate. Were they seriously hurt? Had they been through something traumatic? Perhaps they had just needed a good cry to feel better? Maybe it was a funeral? 

One of the hardest things about being in tune with your emotions is knowing that you are destined to be out of tune with someone else’s. Even if you can control your own tears, you can’t control theirs. And it’s a bit harder when you don’t even know why they’re crying. 

Even though it was annoying at times, Jack still worried for his soulmate. He thought about them every day. Even his teammates had noticed this sudden change, but Jack had nothing to add.

“What’s up with your girl, huh? She’s been quiet these past few days? Thank God.”

He just shrugged as they laughed. Jack continued to tape his stick, eyes not wavering from his hands. Perhaps he’d post about it tonight on the boards. He just hoped that he would get a response. 

Even when it came time to posting, no one ever really responded. No one ever did. And, it wasn’t like this was the biggest thing he was interested in at the moment. After all, soulmates are forever, and his hockey career was just beginning. After the thread had been open for about 20 minutes, he sighed and locked it. He just assumed there was no point in waiting. He didn’t need a partner right now, anyway. It would only distract him from his goal. 

He felt it rising in his chest. Jack whipped around to the bedside table and unscrewed the cap. He took a few pills, swallowed them dry. Jack Zimmerman sat up for a moment, eyes closed as he waited for his alleviation. He didn’t want to think about this right now. He didn’t want to think about his Father right now. 

It took a few minutes of controlled breathing, clutching his chest, but Jack finally calmed down a bit. He placed his laptop to the side and inhaled once more. 

That’s all. 

He was his own person.

He was better than him, anyway.

He continued to breathe.

And that was all.

. . .

It had been a few months since Eric’s accident, and he was adjusting well in his new school. He had made quite a bit of friends (after allowing them to sign his lime green cast, of course). Coach had started, ironically enough, coaching the hockey team at his new school. Which he would be made to join as soon as his wrist had healed, with which the physical therapy he had been ongoing for it, should be sooner than later. 

Eric was happier and he cried a lot less. For the first time in his life, he felt okay. Even if, occasionally he was called a couple of slurs here and there, more often than not, he didn’t let it bother him. He wondered if his soulmate had worried after that night. Maybe they thought something… maybe they knew something had happened. 

They honestly hadn’t been too emotional for him to be able to tell.

He sat in his math class, scribbling notes over his formulas and drawing happy and sad faces along the margins. He thought how… odd it must feel to be crying when you’re having such a wonderful day? Not that his soulmate had ever shed a tear, honestly… he couldn’t recall the last time his soulmate had ever cried. Had they? And what did it even feel like?

It made him wonder if something big was coming. Surely, even if his soulmate was a complete wall, they must have had some sense of sentiment. After all… feeling sad was still just a human emotion. And Eric continued to wonder whether or not he had ever missed signs of his soulmate feeling incredible joy. Intense sadness. Anything that would evoke a single tear.

But nothing ever came.

He felt pitiful at this moment because despite the fact that his complaint was that his soulmate had never cried-- he somehow felt like crying himself. How selfish was that? To wish someone would cry just so you would feel justified in your “shared” experiences? Eric wasn’t too sure about that. And he could only continue to curse at himself as his head hung lowly above his unfinished math homework. 

If only, if only.

. . .

To be fair, it had been a long time coming. Jack Zimmermann had known this, but for some strange reason, he never felt as if that day would come. And here he was, pale knuckles clutched at the ceramic sink, vision blurred as he stared himself down in the mirror.

This couldn’t be happening.

His vision faded in and out as his stomach rose to his throat, another cough rattling his core, attempting to hold down his bile. He grabbed the pill bottle and fumbled with it, hands shaking as he attempted to reread the warning label. Unfortunately, his hands, nor his eyes were able to help him read the warnings. Jack could only watch as the bottle fell to the floor, circular stark tablets spilling across the bathroom tile.  
He couldn’t help but choke back a sob as he watched them fall. He couldn’t help but feel like he was watching his entire existence being scattered across the floor. His career being scattered across the tile. His relationships with those he loved, crushed underneath his weight as his body hit the bathroom floor. His sense of self-worth, dissipating as he could only try to keep consciousness, the double vision he experienced as he attempted to focus on his shaking hands.

[ I’m so sorry. ] His blue eyes welled with fat tears, cascading down his cheeks. He tried so hard, didn’t he? He tried so hard to fill the shoes that he had been given, but somehow… somehow, it was never enough. Jack Zimmermann was choking as his unbridled sobs filled the empty bathroom.

He could hear heavy footsteps approaching his room.

That’s when everything finally went dark.

. . .

Eric Bittle had never felt anything like this before. He was just trying to finish some homework when all of a sudden, he was hit with a flood of emotions that did not belong to him. Beginning with a few, fast tears, he reached up to touch his face.

It felt selfish, but he was honestly relieved he knew now… he did indeed have a soulmate. Someone that was meant to love him no matter what, handpicked just for him; however, part of him knew exactly what this meant. That his soulmate had finally cracked under some sort of pressure. 

It felt… odd, knowing that he couldn’t control the tears that spilled past his cheeks, no matter how much he wiped them away, he could not force them to stop. Drenched sleeves placed over his eyes, softly whimpering behind his hands as he could only imagine.

Was this what it felt like to everyone? Having this odd magnetic connection, despite being so far apart? The static in the room and in his heart... felt heavy, as opposed to this being a completely new feeling. Although it felt strange to have this be his first shared experience, he hadn’t expected it to be something this… heavy. Like there was anvil on his chest, his lungs compressed in a force beyond human nature. He reached for his phone through watery vision, sniffling loudly.

> Mmama

Send.

> They,re\ cruign and it hurts

Send.

He bites his lip and leans back into his pillow, attempting to control his sobs. And as easy as it came, it was gone. The breaths were calmer, streaks still brushing past his cheeks. Eric sat up, staring at his phone, hoping for a quick response. It had only been… fifteen minutes or so since the start of this ordeal and he hasn’t expected it to be over so quickly.

What if they were in danger? What if they were seriously hurt? Eric’s mind flooded with “what if’s,” eyes clouding as he regained control of his own emotion. But he tried to promise himself that he wasn’t going to cry. It would be so selfish of him to do so. After all, they had just finished crying. What was Eric going to do, retaliate with more tears? How selfish was that?

How selfish was that?

He didn’t know, but it wasn’t too much longer until he felt his own tears reclaim their rightful place on his cheeks. And even though they were his, he just didn’t understand their purpose. His phone buzzed in response, but Eric flipped over and cried a little bit harder.

Buzz, buzz.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is trying to recover.
> 
> Eric likes Beyoncé.

The days seemed to get shorter and shorter after the fall of Jack Zimmermann. People phased in and out of his life and out of his hospital room just the same, but even now, tears were just as foreign to him. Despite it being a more common activity, some things just never felt as if they belonged. And here he sat in a room with the air so stagnant that it could just as easily have been broken with a quick cough. Bob Zimmermann had his arms crossed over his chest, staring down at the floor. It had been like this since the day of the accident— awkward silence, questions people wanted the answers to but never had the courage to ask. His mother was presumably getting a coffee from the cafeteria, as she had cleared her throat and announced just before walking out of the room with bated breath. Jack had known she lied sometimes to make him feel a bit better about this entire ordeal. After all, how were you supposed to announce to your son that you needed to have a good cry about him? He wasn’t sure he’d be able to explain that either. But this time, instead of Bob covering his face or needing to step out of the room himself, he sat calmly, taking shallow breaths that seemed to reverberate from the walls. 

Jack knew he had questions to ask, but there really was no good way to begin such a conversation. Even if the most simple question would be, “Why?” There was no way he could bring himself to answer it. In its most basic form, he did not know why. Even if he knew the steps that had drawn him into this place, into this bed, and into this weak form, he hadn’t known how it would come to be. His icy blue eyes scanned the opposing side of the room, hands folded neatly in his lap. But of course, this didn’t stop his parents from questioning the things on everyone’s mind. 

[ … Jack. ] Bob Zimmermann finally speaks, eyes unwavering as he continues to stare holes into the floor. [ Why? ]

And finally, he had asked it. Jack snapped his head around towards his Father, clearing his throat awkwardly. He didn’t even know how to begin to explain something like this, let alone in the presence of the man who had caused most of this anxiety in the first place. He could feel his chest tightening at the mention of the subject, eyes nearly brimming with tears. Jack still hadn’t gotten used to the feeling of the sensation and reached up to wipe his eyes.

[ I don’t know. ] He said softly, eyes still gentle and slightly red. [There are just too many variables to count. ] He answered dismissively, although, Bob had always been one to jump to conclusions. The man pulled the chair closer to the bedside, reaching out to clasp his son’s hands in his own. Both fairly calloused from use, tracing the fair knuckles as Jack stared down at their hands. He couldn’t look at his Dad. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

Warm tears dripped from his cheeks and onto their hands, and his Father pulled him just a bit closer. [ You can tell me anything, don’t you know that? ] He murmured, almost in a scolding tone, although it was clear he was hurting just as badly. And it wasn’t like Jack didn’t want to tell his Dad, it was just that, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to find the words to explain why… how it had come to this in the first place. His chest rose and fell as the tears dried over time, the two of them holding each other in silence like they hadn’t done in quite a long time.

Having two parents who loved and supported him was a blessing, and he was very aware of that; however, having two parents who were both equally as busy with their careers was also very difficult. Although he had chosen to follow a path fairly similar to his Father’s, he wanted to make it known that he was not, and would never be as good as him. No, he would far surpass him and he would show the world that not only was he Bob Zimmermann’s son, but he was his own person, not simply a prodigy who had been gifted at birth. Each fleeting moment he spent on the ice, each second he spent practicing his shots, was his work. Not his Father’s, not his bloodline, and not his God Given Gift.

Jack Zimmermann was a hardworking individual who had forged his own path and would continue that route straight into the NHL. He buried his head just a bit deeper into his Father’s shoulder, alleviating a shaky breath.

At this point, it was clear that Alicia had not left just for a cup of coffee.

… 

Tears had, all of a sudden, become a more comforting part of life for Eric. It almost allowed him that relief to know that, yes, his soulmate was definitely there, and that they were certainly alive. So when he felt tears prickle in his eyes, it almost felt like a sense of accomplishment to him. He kept his chin high and his smile just as strong, even as he stood in public. It was a completely natural phenomenon, so why not feel proud for something like that? His life was slowly but surely pulling itself back together, piece by piece. Eric had begun to bake more, vlog more, write more, listening to music more. He had been working through his feelings in healthier ways, too. 

He couldn’t believe that in just a few months he would be finishing up his freshman year of high school. Granted, it had been much easier than middle school. He seemed to be well-liked among peers, although that might have just been an act to get closer to him. After all, he never missed baking pies and cookies for his class parties or a close friend’s birthday. He was ecstatic for the future, in ways he hadn’t really expected before. For once in his life, it felt like things were falling into place. 

Eric had even tried looking for his soulmate on a few different forums, but they never seemed to be around. Although, that didn’t bother him, much. What was important was that he knew he definitely had one. And just the thought of that made his heart swell.

He leaned back in his chair and turned up Beyoncé. Just a bit louder. He could almost hear Coach yelling at him to quiet down from downstairs, but he wasn’t so sure.

“Everywhere I'm looking now...  
I'm surrounded by your embrace…”

…

Life had not been as kind to Jack Zimmerman. He wasn’t quite certain where he was headed. It seemed like everything was so set in stone until he fucked it all up. He fucked everything up in one foul swoop. Rehabilitation had helped him overcome certain aspects of his “addiction.” He tended to use the term lightly since it never really felt like that to him. Although his therapist had always said: “Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery!”

She tended to say things like that often, with her perfectly curled blond hair and her bright blue eyes. Her vibrant red lips and the constant scritch scratch of her pen. She tended to change the toppers on the pen to different animals, every day of the week. Although she never failed to mention her favorite was the elephant, due to her being an Alumni of a certain school with that being the mascot. It was plastered all over her walls, too. Her diploma, coffee mug, and mouse pad all proudly stated how happy she was to be an Alumni.

And to be frank, it kind of made him sick.

It reminded him of all the things he could not have at the moment, not until he got… this sorted out. Luckily, he was able to keep “playing” hockey. Although it wasn’t exactly what he had in mind.

His mother had been keeping her eyes out for open positions, recreational teams— things of that nature. She was determined to find some way to bring hockey back into his life. And eventually, she burst into his room with a bright smile and her hand covering the phone. 

“Assistant coach! A junior hockey team for kids!” She exclaimed, giving him a big thumbs up before blabbing away on the phone about his talent and “natural connection with children.” Moms will do and say anything to get their kid back on their feet, he supposed.

And although he was reluctant, he gave it a shot. Ended up feeling a lot better about himself, too. Teaching kids to shoot and skate helped rebuild his confidence in a way he had been missing. There was just something about a gap-toothed, wide-eyed kid staring up at you like you were the best player in the NHL. Despite the fact, you could have blocked his shot with your eyes closed.

It was at this point Jack realized his talent and charisma. He was still reluctant to admit it to his mother, but teaching a bunch of children the importance of hockey and how to play saved his life in more ways than one. He was just happy to be around his sport again. And he supposed the kids were alright, too.

Slowly, and just a tad bitter, Jack started to recover.

…

One, two, three.  
One, two, three.

He had not skated competitively for a long time. Not that he needed an exact reason to practice, though. Sometimes he’d just find himself back here during the chill of winters, testing the ice to see if it would hold his weight. Much to his surprise, it usually would. Although he didn’t live in a particularly cold state, the winters had been especially nasty this year. Which in a sense, was very inviting to him.

Eric liked to think as he skidded across the ice, feeling his feet move carefully under him, flicking his wrists in graceful movements as he cascaded around the pond. 

Where was he going?

He wasn’t really so sure. 

So many things had changed since the move. He had oddly transitioned from figure skating to hockey. He had started baking more and more. He had started a small vlog channel to share his experiences, specifically about his baking hobby. For once, things felt exceptionally peaceful, even if he had no idea where he was headed in life.

He still wondered about his soulmate, sometimes. Although it seemed to be much lesser than normal. His mother suggested that much of the anxiety had come from simply not knowing if they had even existed. But now that they were more in tune with their emotions… he no longer had to worry about that.

Sometimes he still checked the forums, checking his old locked threads to see if there were any comments he missed. Posting new threads with specific dates and times. Certain feelings and curiosity about his future partner. Sometimes, he wondered if they even had internet. Or maybe they were just searching at the wrong place at the wrong time? There were just too many variables to count, he wasn’t even sure where he could— 

He fell.

Not hard, but enough to slide across the ice and get his pants very wet. Eric Bittle just sat there, staring off into the distance. Looking at the trees and how they managed to cover certain bits of the sky. He pulled his scarf a bit tighter around his neck, eyes narrowed.

He thought about the trees, sometimes. Like how they seem so big, even standing next to them. And how it’s even harder to imagine the roots growing beneath the ground. But he did like seeing the exposed roots, too. Even if that didn’t answer all of his questions. He wondered if tree roots could overlap. If they could touch each other. Maybe there were trees holding hands and he didn’t even know it. Sort of like how you look online and see those trees that have grown into each other. Or the ones that have grown objects into them.

Eric leaned back onto the ice, just staring at the sky. It was cold, but welcoming. The few inches of skin not covered in thick clothing welcomed the slightly damp ice, even as his breathing slowed back to normal. 

He liked moments like this. Those moments where he didn’t have to think about his next play. Or what he’ll talk about next. Or what he’ll wear to school tomorrow. Or what he’ll do when he graduates high school.

Hell, he just didn’t know.

And maybe, for now, that was okay.

…

His mom was crying. His dad was gripping his shoulder.

He was holding an acceptance letter in his hand. 

[ I got in. ] He said in a soft tone. A few words he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to say. Jack felt his mother’s arms wrap around him, reach up to kiss his cheek. His father was still stoic, but was continually rubbing circles on his back. It was one of the best things that had happened to him in a while.

[ When’s your signing? Does it say? ] Zimmermann asked, peering over his shoulder at the letter. 

[ Says I’ll have to call to schedule. We can do that later. ] Jack answered, still going over those words in his head. There were few words that hit as well as Congratulations. Very few that could manage to get him to nearly shed a tear. 

Just almost.

He didn’t really hear what they said afterwards. General congratulatory praise.  
I’m proud of you.  
Maybe we should get dinner?  
Where would you want to eat?  
Jack?

He didn’t know. Truthfully, he was happy. Even more truthfully, this should have been in his hands years ago. Seriously? A hockey star getting accepted into college at 21? Who does that? In his head, he could hear the critics. 

Zimmermann’s son finally gets into college. Was it even on a Hockey Scholarship? Will he even play hockey after that fuck up three years ago? Should he even show his face on the rink professionally? 

[ Jack. ] His father states.

[ Sorry. Got distracted thinking about how excited I am. ] He lied, folding the letter back. [ We should go out to eat. That sounds nice. ]

[ Oh, great. ] His mom smiles, pushing her hair behind her ear. [ I know this lovely Thai restaurant about thirty miles from here… ] 

...

The pen flew across the contract, and the coaches rose from their seats to shake his hand. Cameras flashing. Parents smiling. Photographers yelling, “Look this way! Look this way! Mr. Zimmermann, please look over here!”

Mr. Zimmermann.

Hard to differentiate the difference between your all-star father and an adult child.

Mr. Zimmermann.

He smiled, felt hands across his shoulders and met the eyes of a few people he would never learn the names of.

“Welcome to the team!” A boy said, reaching out to shake his hand.

“Glad to have ya, Zimmermann!” Another boy said, slapping him on the back.

“You’re a fraud.” Said someone he could not find. 

“Who, me?” Jack Zimmermann asked, clutching the jersey close to his chest. “Who thinks I’m a fraud?”

And the boys shook their head. 

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Me either. You feeling okay?”

“You’re a fraud. You’ll never be able to compete with the legacy of the real Zimmermann. How sad is that? Imagine if you didn’t have that name, you’d basically be a nobody. Nobody would be at this signing, would they, Jack?” The voice answered, full of malice. Jack spun around to try and find them, but they were nowhere to be seen. No face matched the voice. There was no one that matched the voice. It seemed so familiar. It seemed so close. 

“Show yourself. I can’t see you.” He said in a quivering tone, watching the concerned faces around him melt and distort into blobs, unfamiliar. He spun around once more, trying to retreat to his signing table before it disappeared like the rest of them.

He reached out to grab the flat surface, but he fell onto the dark floor, standing above a single object.

“You’re a fraud.” The voice said from the object, it’s face twisted into a frown. He picked it up with shaking hands, eyebrows furrowing with fear. “You’ll never be good enough.”

Said the mirror, as Jack Zimmermann threw it into the ground.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it takes me literally forever to write because I get worried it is Garbáge. Thank you for all the really nice comments!! It really helps. Like, a ton. Decided I would make it longer than two chapters. Maybe 3/4. We’ll see. Thank you for reading!


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